


I'll Never Be Satisfied

by shiranuikai



Category: NJPW, Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Drinking, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sad, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiranuikai/pseuds/shiranuikai
Summary: Nakamura is back from another long trip to the LA Dojo, and the weight of all the things left unsaid during an unexpected phone call threatens to crush the very delicate balancing act Goto and Nakamura have kept up since their teens.Present day in this story is roughly the summer of 2004.
Relationships: Nakamura Shinsuke/Goto Hirooki, Shinsuke Nakamura/Hirooki Goto
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	I'll Never Be Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot is based around events described in Shinsuke Nakamura’s biography, and a direct quote about Hirooki Goto from Shinsuke in the book. I haven't written fan fiction, or really any kind of fiction, since 2016. Please be gentle, but I'd love constructive feedback on my writing and formatting. Shinsuke and Hirooki are the first pairing I ever wrote about and they're deeply nostalgic for me. I hope you enjoy.

It was a blisteringly hot afternoon in Tokyo. The kind of late summer day that Goto would normally spend downing ice water and glued to a box fan in between training sessions at the New Japan dojo. Today was different, however. The “Chosen Son of God” was gracing them with his presence again. Back from touring Japan, America, North Korea, God knows where else. Goto had worked hard to keep his face even when Nakamura breezed through the door. He somehow managed to look cool and unbothered while Goto and the rest of their peers wiped copious amounts of sweat from their glistening brows, their t-shirts already soaked through from that morning’s grappling sessions.

Nakamura had made the rounds, paying respect to all their coaches first, then the older trainees, and then the members of their class. For all his bravado and tendencies to buck tradition, there were some he followed to the letter. Goto watched Nakamura and Taguchi greet each other and suppressed the annoyance he felt when Nakamura glanced in his direction over Ryusuke’s shoulder. Their eyes met for only a moment but it was the smirk that spread across Nakamura’s face that made Goto nearly lose his composure. He was putting on a show, saving Goto for last, and enjoying the attention. It was classic Nakamura, something he did to get under Goto’s skin from the moment they met at a wrestling tournament during their high school years, and Goto was still not immune to this game. No matter how many years had gone by, or how many months at a time they spent apart, being ignored and then teased by Nakamura was enough to set his nerve endings on fire.

When Nakamura finally sidled up to him, his hand extended, Goto took it without really thinking, knowing that their peers were still mingling and chatting idly around them. He barely repressed a shudder when Nakamura pulled him in toward his chest, his lips brushing delicately against his ear lobe. “Have you been missing me?”

Goto swallowed harder than he would have liked, and his voice sounded strained when he spoke. “Been much too busy for that.”

Nakamura laughed, low in his throat. “Really? That’s not what it sounded like a few weeks ago.”

Goto took a step back and let his hand fall back to his side, his expression suddenly stony. Memories from their last phone call flooded his mind… Goto, drunk on beer and plum wine after a night out with the older trainees and Taguchi, trying to keep his voice low in the kitchen where the only shared phone hung haphazardly on the wall. The phone had rung by chance as they passed by, trudging off to their dorm rooms to sleep off the alcohol, and Taguchi had been the one to pick up from habit. His words slightly slurred, he had called out to Goto, a peculiar smile on his lips.

_“Goto, it’s for you.”_

Goto caught himself with both hands on the door frame of their shared room and craned his neck to look back at Taguchi. _“Me? Who could be calling for me at this hour?”_

Taguchi laughed, which quickly turned into a fit of hiccups. When he composed himself, he held out the corded phone, his hand barely covering the receiver. _“It’s N-Nakamura, obviously.”_

 _Obviously._ In his haste to take the phone and shoo Taguchi out of the kitchen, he nearly tripped over his roommate, which caused quite a bit of cursing and shushing from the older trainees down the hall. When Taguchi had untangled himself and finally stumbled into their room, shutting the door behind him, Goto took a deep breath and held the phone to his ear.

 _“H-hello?”_ Christ, he sounded a bit pathetic.

Nakamura laughed softly, but not in a malicious way, his voice crackling over the receiver. _“Ah, Goto... I’ve been wanting to hear your voice.”_

Goto swallowed hard, his brain working overtime to find a way to remain composed, cool, calm, unaffected. Unfortunately for Goto, copious amounts of beer and wine made it all the more difficult to keep his guard up. _“Oh, really? Yeah, well, I’ve... yeah, I’ve been missing you.”_

He nearly dropped the phone in embarrassment at his own vulnerability and could feel the color rising in his cheeks. It was the truth, and that’s what made it worse. They didn’t discuss their feelings, an unspoken rule between them, though it had been so long that Goto couldn’t remember who had “established” that rule to begin with. They had been at this for years, since Nakamura had surprised him with a kiss after a wrestling tournament that Goto had beat him handedly in when they were seventeen and sixteen respectively. He could remember that moment so clearly, the two of them, slightly awkward, all gangly limbs and terrible haircuts, still coated in sweat from their match. They stood beneath the high school gym’s bleachers, Nakamura playing idly with the first place medal around Goto’s neck. 

_“This suits you,” _Nakamura had said as he turned the gold disc over in his fingers. _“But I still need to give you a prize, just from me.”___

____

____

Goto was sure Nakamura would have been able to feel his thumping heart through his team jersey. _“From you? What kind of prize?”_

Nakamura looked up at Goto from under his eyelashes, his fingers tightening around the medal. _“This kind.”_ he said simply, and closed the distance between them with a kiss. 

Goto had stood stock still at first, his brain temporarily fogged with panic, but after a few moments he fell into a comfortable rhythm with Nakamura, and snaked one hand up the back of Shinsuke’s right arm, letting the pads of his fingers rest on the taller man’s flushed skin. Just as he was getting comfortable, Nakamura pulled away, his eyes bright and a knowing smile on his lips, but as quickly as he appeared, he was gone. That would become a theme in their relationship over the years, though Goto did not know it then. Perhaps he would have let that kiss be an anomaly of their high school days if he had.

Encounters like that became normal for them throughout their college years, and then their time at the New Japan dojo together. Countless nights spent tangled together in dingy hotel rooms where the bills were always paid in cash, or stolen afternoons in their dojo dorm rooms when the pair were absolutely certain no one would walk in on them, only Goto didn’t need to win wrestling tournaments to get Nakamura to kiss him anymore. Sneaking off to dive bars all over Tokyo that Nakamura liked, strange ones where Goto hated the music or the better ones where drag queens bought them shots, all so they could sit in darkened booths and only exist to each other for a few hours. Better to be inconvenienced by sneaking around than have someone from Inoki’s inner circle tattling on them. Inevitably, Nakamura would be sent further up the New Japan ranks or off to some new and exciting place to train, leaving Goto behind. Those nights together were growing fewer and farther between these days.

Nakamura cleared his throat and broke Goto out of his reprieve. To his deep surprise, however, Nakamura didn’t laugh at him or make a characteristically sarcastic remark. _“You never talk like that. Do you really mean it?”_

Goto couldn’t help but notice a strange note in Nakamura’s tone that he couldn't quite decipher, and it made his head swim more than it already was. He could tell Nakamura needed something from him that night, something more than he had ever needed from him before. It was terrifying for him, no need to put it mildly. Feelings only made all of this harder.

_“I... I do. Of course I do. I always miss you when you’re gone.”_

Suddenly there was noise on Nakamura’s end, a cacophony of voices. _“Damn, Hirooki… I have to go. But I’ll call back soon and we’ll talk, okay?”_

\--

They hadn’t spoken again while Nakamura was still in Los Angeles. Goto went on tour and when he came back to the dojo, there had been no messages for him. He had hidden his disappointment in several pints of beer. Nakamura’s casual tone in bringing up that phone call with such ease now touched a nerve. He flexed his fingers to keep from punching him.

“Is that all you know how to do? Poke fun?” Goto hissed, trying to keep his voice down.

He could feel Nakamura frown. “I promise you I’m not this time… what’s gotten into you?”

Goto took a deep breath and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest to steady himself. He was acting like a child where people could see them. “Forget it. It’s fine.”

Nakamura gave a dramatic eyeroll that he seemed to reserve especially for Goto and then craned his neck to see if the dojo crowd was dispersing. “Listen… can we go somewhere? It looks like they’re breaking for lunch.”

Goto glanced over Nakamura’s shoulder and watched Taguchi follow the older trainees out of the dojo, almost certainly on their way to the nearest lunch spot with air conditioning. They had an hour alone, if they were lucky. Goto wanted to say no to Nakamura to pay him back for not calling, but the taller man was looking at him from under his eyelashes and reaching for one of his arms, tugging gently but insistently, his tongue poking out between his lips. Goto could feel all his defenses failing. By the time they shut the door of Goto’s shared room with Taguchi, Nakamura’s hands were in his hair, the muscles on his bare arms taut, his full body weight pressed against Goto’s. 

Goto gripped the bottom of Nakamura’s red muscle tee with both hands, balling the fabric in his fists, the better to keep him there. Goto made to catch Nakamura’s lips with his own but the taller man tilted his head back at the last moment, which elicited a frustrated groan from Goto. Nakamura chuckled softly, ever the tease, and held Goto’s chin between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before closing the gap and kissing him deeply. Goto’s eyes closed automatically and he silently marveled at the way Nakamura could undo him with one kiss, even when he had been thinking about punching him mere moments ago. It didn’t take long for them to peel their clothes off each other, shirts thrown haphazardly and gym shorts being kicked under the bed with reckless abandon. Goto only hoped Taguchi was in the sort of mood to keep everyone distracted at lunch longer than usual today. Nakamura’s head was between Goto’s legs when he realized they had both been too distracted to lock the door. It quickly didn’t matter whether the door was locked or not, and Goto forgot again, losing himself in Nakamura completely.

When they had finished, Nakamura had slung his leg over Goto’s hip and rested his head in the crook of Goto’s arm. They were slick with sweat, and even with two box fans going, the room was stifling. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Nakamura to move over because he couldn’t remember the last time they had gotten to lay like this together. Goto brushed sweat soaked strands of Nakamura’s hair off his forehead and neck. Nakamura made an appreciative noise but neither man spoke. It felt like there was something in the air between them, and Goto wasn’t sure exactly what, but he could only assume it had to do with the phone call. That damned phone call. It was the last thing he thought about before he fell asleep, the first thing he thought about upon waking, and what distracted him during dojo practice rounds. It was such a simple and almost juvenile exchange and yet it felt like they were knocking on the door of something far more complex between the two of them. Goto continued absentmindedly stroking his fingers through Nakamura’s hair, gently working through all the tangles. All he needed to do was speak up. It could be that easy. _I miss you, please stay, let’s find a way to make it work-_

Then from a long way off, Nakamura’s voice. “So, what’s up with you?”

Goto started, shook his head to clear it, and managed a half hearted sort of shrug from his position on the bed. “What do you...?”

Nakamura sighed in annoyance, his eyes immediately retreating to the back of his skull. He moved his hand from the small of Goto’s back to bring two fingers, index and middle, to his temple where he tapped twice. “I mean up here. What’s up with you, huh? It’s like you leave your body and you don’t even know it. I wish you would just talk to me.”

Goto stared at him hard, slightly bewildered, and even more frustrated. The color was rising in his cheeks and there was nowhere to hide under Shinsuke’s penetrating gaze. He knew Nakamura was analyzing him, waiting to capitalize on the first hint of emotion. _What’s up with me? It’s you!_ Goto wanted to shout. _It’s always you. Asking me questions I don't have answers to, getting under my skin, taking opportunities away from me. Leaving. Leaving leaving leaving. Always leaving. Leaving me when all I’ve ever done is try to love you._ But the words wouldn’t come. They became jumbled, meaningless, and turned to dust when he tried opening his mouth to speak.

Suddenly, Nakamura shoved his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and pushed off the bed. Goto winced and rubbed at the sore muscle Nakamura’s palm had connected with. He had a voice again. “What’s your problem, man? You call out of the blue, then you don’t even call back, now you show up here like this.”

Nakamura fished his underwear and gym shorts out from under Goto’s bed, slipped them on over his hips, carefully avoiding eye contact. “The way you are... there’s a fine line between being serious and just... flat out freaky.” He turned on his heel and snatched his shirt from the back of Taguchi’s chair. With his back to Goto and his hand on the door knob, he paused. “And I did call back. Nagata-san picked up and said you were out with Shibata-kun. I told him not to bother with a message.” Then he left, letting the door slam behind him. 

Goto rolled onto his back, smoothed both hands over his face, and breathed in deeply. Freaky. That word wounded him, though he could not say why in particular. Perhaps it was the way in which Shinsuke said it, with such derision and ease, as if he had been thinking that about Goto for a long time and been holding back from saying it. From his time with Inoki, Nakamura had become particularly well versed at all the little joint jabs and maneuvers one could use in a fight if you wanted to play dirty. Nakamura was like that with words too. _Shibata_. Nakamura had practically spit his friend’s name at him. To say those two men didn’t care for each other was becoming an understatement, but to think Nakamura had been holding that against him the whole time... it was unfair. Goto had to suppress a bitter laugh- that word sprung to mind too easily when it came to Shinsuke Nakamura.

He sat up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. Taguchi and the rest of their dojo coaches and peers would be back at any moment, but he could rinse off before they continued with their afternoon practices. Goto swung his legs off the bed and stood, searching the room for the cleanest bath towel he could find. Nakamura would be at the afternoon sessions, and he would ignore Goto. If they were paired together for drills and grappling, Nakamura might work him over the way Inoki taught him in Los Angeles, just to see if it would get a rise out of him. They wouldn’t speak about this again, and Goto would start to wonder if whatever it was between them had finally run its course. Then Nakamura would appear seemingly from nowhere with that look in his eyes, the cycle would begin anew, and then he would be gone again, just as quickly. On another plane, surely, to some adventure grander than anything Goto could ever offer him. Rinse and repeat.


End file.
